


The Proclamation

by WebsterMarston



Category: Sleeping Beauty Series - A. N. Roquelaure
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 08:29:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19169545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WebsterMarston/pseuds/WebsterMarston
Summary: A Princess reading the proclamation inviting slaves in BEAUTY'S KINGDOM recalls her servitude before returning, against family wishes.





	The Proclamation

“What’s this?”

Princess Lucy unfolded the crumpled parchment again, reading the words of a proclamation she’d never dared hope for, before her brother the King, Charles, snatched it away.

“I didn’t want you to see that.”

She looked at him again, and spoke, reminding him, for the countless time.

“It was Bellavelten, Charles. It said something about how King Laurent and Queen Beauty have returned, asked to rule in Queen Eleanor’s death. It said the Kingdom is welcoming all—“

“And why would that concern you? Didn’t they torture you enough? Queen Eleanor must have bankrupted that place with her profligacy, so now her lascivious successors have to enlarge the conspiracy.”

“By taking on more slaves to care for? More mouths to feed?”

“Enough. You still don’t understand.”

He stalked off, and Lucy sat at their table in the empty family dining hall, staring at the grain in the wood and dust on the walls, willing the words of the proclamation, glimpsed once, to return to her mind.

Bellavelten, open to all who wished to serve. People could go apply: Prince and Princess, Lord and Lady, commoner and noble alike.

She remembered the first time she’d seen the emissaries, when they came for Charles. Impressively dressed in velvet, trimmed in gold and silver, the diplomats from Bellavelten, the Kingdom of Queen Eleanor, always commanded attention. A few of the older members of their court would turn away, scowling, while the rest heard whatever the eloquent speakers put forth.

Lucy had always found herself subtly shepherded away.

Charles had come to her after his appointment with them, blushing and nervous, more so than usual. He had a handsome face, with a square jaw, and the blue eyes they shared. He often spoiled that impression by never quite meeting anyone’s gaze. 

“I believe they chose me, Lucy!”

He had been proud and happy.

They had heard stories, of course. Bellavelten was known for its wealth, power, and secret customs. It had been so for generations. It offered a sort of patronage, apprenticeship, or hostage exchange—as some of the older royalty called it—to the Princes and Princesses of neighboring kingdoms. Commonly, such practices had been maintained to stave off wars and increase the chances of forming alliances between kingdoms through marriage. But a veil of secrecy, with just a hint of scandal, surrounded that kingdom. Those who served, served young, only for three or four years, and returned compensated handsomely in gold and jewels.

They seldom spoke about what had happened to them. 

Lucy had met an older Princess, Eugenia, who smiled wanly when asked about it the few times they had met. Eugenia was stunning. Her dark hair was longer than Lucy’s, setting off an olive complexion. She was engaged, soon to be married.

“I can tell you this: It was surprising, and at times difficult, but nothing I could not handle. I fought to stay longer. More than that? I must respect their customs, my dear.”

She looked at Lucy, considering.

“Though should you chance to visit, take the opportunity. I believe your brother Charles serves there now, and no siblings serve at the same time. You are a great beauty, Lucy, but when his service has ended, you may be too old. Some service is best in the heat of youth.”

Yet that was not to happen.

To her parents’ rage and shame, Charles returned early from his service, having renounced it and fled to the kingdom of King Lysius. He stayed locked in his chambers several weeks before Lucy saw him again, sneaking in. Their parents forbade him to dine at the family table.

Lucy sometimes eavesdropped on parents quarreling on the subject, but the overheard fragments made the mystery no clearer.

“It’s not like I didn’t serve my time at that Court, back in King Friedrich’s day,” her father said. “I learned a few things, too, let me tell you. I never heard you complain.”

“It’s different for each of us in our own way, Piotr. My servitude may have been more… difficult, and we cannot speak for what Charles experienced.”

“Nothing new under the sun, Katarina.”

Lucy had heard no more after that for fear of being discovered, but her parents obviously held different opinions. Charles also said nothing when she saw him again, just blushing and scowling.

“No one really speaks of it,” he said. “It is the custom.”

The same words Princess Eugenia had used, but his tone suggested a shield instead of a veil.

“We’ve told each other everything, Charles.”

“Not this.”

Then the emissaries came again, but not to take Charles back. Instead, they wished to speak with Lucy.

She’d heard later Charles protested, flying into a rage,only to be banished to his chambers before he could embarrass the family any further.

Lucy had seen them when they visited Charles, but this time it was a man and woman. Reynaldo, a shaven-headed, stone-faced giant of a man with a fussy, thin dark mustache nodded at his introduction and said no more. Lady Marietta more than made up for her companion’s taciturn nature. Her gown was trimmed in the same impressive colors as Reynaldo’s doublet, and even more lavishly decorated. She was tall, with long dark hair, curly where Lucy’s was straight, surrounding a rather pointed, almost vulpine face, balanced by large, vibrant blue eyes. They twinkled and looked kind, but they could darken at a moment’s notice. 

_All the better to see you with, my Dear_ , Lucy thought, remembering the old tale. 

They made small chatter about the state of Lucy’s kingdom over a plate of cheese and fruit. No servant attended them, so Lucy provided. She seemed to feel Lady Marietta’s requests more keenly, as if each carried the force of a command. Something else in the Lady’s voice made Lucy tremble slightly, yet it was not an unwelcome feeling. Request blurred to command blurred to something else, something she wished to obey, even to the moment of her inspection.

“I need you to disrobe, Princess,” the Lady said, in the privacy of Lucy’s own chamber. “I want you to take off every stitch of clothing and stand naked before me.”

She saw Lucy’s glance.

“You may be certain Reynaldo will not throw himself upon you, and you may count upon our discretion. Yet still, you must remove your clothes. All of them.”

Lucy blushed herself, now, but Reynaldo’s bored expression made her feel a touch less self-conscious. By the time she finished, she wished she had stoked the fire more. Her nipples stood out from the cold, and she crossed her arms over her breasts while she covered her sex with her hands.

Had they asked this of Charles?

Lady Marietta stood, nodding. She walked all around Lucy.

“A fine figure.”

Reynaldo nodded.

“Princess, you will cease concealing yourself now. Place your hands on the back of your neck, as I do.”

Lady Marietta demonstrated, holding her hands in that position briefly. Lucy copied her. The Lady nodded, then said, “Now spread your legs.”

Blushing anew, Lucy did so. Removing her hands from the hair of her sex had felt revealing, but now the air itself seemed to touch her there.

“She obeys well enough,” Reynaldo said. Lucy twitched slightly, ashamed she had forgotten him in such a small space of time. She could feel her pulse, and wondered if her breasts shook with her heartbeat in a way they could see.

She thought of Charles again. More than her own predicament, the image of Charles submitting to such an examination brought the color to her face. Of course, Lady Marietta had not been there.

_No_ , she realized, _Lady Marietta came for me. Women must examine the women._

Lucy knew this without having to ask, nor could she have put the question together at that moment on her own. She had other concerns, after all.

Yet standing there, naked for this examination, an old feeling stole over her, similarly without words.

_Charles bore this, but eventually faced something he could not. I can bear this, and will bear whatever he could not._

Whatever those unknown torments could be frightened her, but called to her; excited her. In what few contests life had allowed them, Lucy always made it a point to best Charles.

Her legs shook. Her hands started to come down, to conceal herself again, as Lady Marietta had said. The Lady pressed her skin just a touch harder and looked up at Lucy, her eyes neutral, but cold. Lucy halted. 

_I can bear this more than Charles could,_ she thought again. She drew a deep breath, feeling calm flow into her with it, anchored by the Lady’s gaze. The Lady gave a small nod, then turned her attention again to Lucy’s sex. 

“And have you known intimacy, Princess? The attention of a lover?” 

“No.”

“You will answer me with ‘No, my Lady.’ Manners, Princess.” 

“Yes… my Lady. And no, my Lady.”

The reply came to her lips far too quickly, and it seemed another moment marked. Lady Marietta nodded again. 

“And do you know of the pleasures lovers have of each other?” 

Lucy could feel her blush. She could feel her fingers laced at her neck, her chest rising and falling, her nipples hard, though the room had grown close and hot. Between her legs she could feel that warm pulse. Her friends had spoke of lovers’ kisses and sighs, and courtly ballads spoke of true hearts, but from time to time they also passed around more ribald ballads which young ladies were not supposed to hear, which seemed to address such matters far more directly. 

Lucy hoped Lady Marietta would not press her for specifics, for she could not quite recall the time her own explorations, which had always felt good, had turned to something more. It had, for some reason, made her think of the Priest’s sermons on Eve’s Fall in the Garden. 

“No, my Lady, not of each other.”

Lady Marietta touched Lucy’s sex itself now, gently feeling the little lips before probing inside. Lucy knew she shook again, but surely the Lady would know what this meant. 

“But only with yourself, perhaps? You may speak freely-- though politely-- Princess. You need have no secrets from me. I will be your confidante in this. Reynaldo, likewise, is sworn to secrecy as an Emissary.” 

“Yes, and, ah… yes, my Lady.” 

Lady Marietta’s careful probing had found her wetness, and she moaned as the Lady touched that swelling nub at the fork of her sex, daintily rolling it with her thumb in an expert motion. She looked up at Lucy again, her knowing gaze quite unravelling. 

She took her hand away, still looking, noting what must have been a small frown, shudder, or other sign of disappointment from Lucy. Now, the touch of a smile graced her nod. Whatever understanding that travelled along their gaze plucked at Lucy’s desire as much as the Lady’s fingers had. 

“You have felt this to its peak, have you not?” 

“Yes, my Lady.” 

A firm nod, then. 

“Princess, with your parents’ blessing, we shall leave for my Kingdom this day. Have your servants pack but two changes of clothing. We shall have all the rest your servitude requires at my Kingdom.” 

Lucy nodded. 

“You may release your hold on your neck. Your compliance to me this afternoon is ended.”

Lucy let her arms down, to her great relief. Lady Marietta stepped forward. 

“But for one detail.”

She caught Lucy’s sex, cupping it with her hand as she spoke. 

“You are not to touch yourself any more from this moment forward, unless instructed to do so.” 

“Yes, my Lady.” 

“It’s good to hear that formality unbidden, Lucy. I will explain more to you, as your training commences. But for now, it should be a simple request.”

A slight mocking lilt crept into Lady Marietta’s otherwise cool voice. Lucy blushed again, but had decided to obey. There would be time enough to fulfill herself later, when she had moments alone.  
Besides, excitement of leaving soon overshadowed that afternoon passion, at least for a time. Her parents seemed almost relieved, and Lucy realized the face they had lost with Charles’ rebellion could now be gained back via her own servitude. And it would be exemplary, she decided. 

She did not see Charles at all. 

“I have confined him to his chambers,” her mother said. “I don’t want his willfulness and cowardice tainting you, Lucy, not that I think it would.” 

“What shall happen, Mother?”

“Much that will surprise you, but nothing that will ultimately harm you. I cannot say more of it. The custom-- “

“Yes, everyone speaks of how surprising it is, and the custom. I suppose I must find out for myself.” 

Her Mother, Queen Katarina, had seldom looked at her the way she did now, as one woman to another. 

“Everyone does find this out for themselves, Lucy, inside that Kingdom or out of it.” 

Lucy’s father, King Piotr, did not quite meet her gaze as she prepared to depart with the emissaries. 

“I know you shall not fail us, Lucy.” 

_Unlike Charles._

Her father had often taken her side in their arguments, and Lucy had wondered what her life would have been like, had she been eldest, and in Charles’ place. 

_And a Prince._

Lady Marietta made her farewells to the court, curtsying as Reynaldo bowed. 

They traveled in a light, covered carriage drawn by a team of four horses. It looked as impressive as the emissaries’ clothing. Wood, leather, gilding, wheels and horses all betokened elegance, but with power behind it. The coachman tipped his cap as Lucy gathered her skirts and climbed inside, after Reynaldo and Lady Marietta. He toyed with the tall whip he would drive the team with. 

The carriage took off with a crack from that whip, and Lucy steadied herself. 

“Your team travels quickly, my Lady.” 

Her baggage had been stowed atop the carriage and Lucy now found herself with little to do. She could feel the wheels rumbling and felt glad her family at least maintained the roads in their corner of the world. A bumpy ride might not be so pleasant. 

“Indeed. It has been somewhat hard travelling. We are not quite at the edge of civilization here, but Reynaldo and I have marked the route well. It is three days’ journey, and two days until we reach kingdoms more loyal to Bellavelten.” 

“I suppose I must make do with my two sets of travelling linens.” 

Reynaldo’s chuckle made Lucy blush, and she regretted speaking. 

“Yes, Princess, at least until we reach the borders of those friendly kingdoms. Now come, tell me about yourself. We shall all get to know each other quite well on this journey.” 

The carriage’s closed doors made them a small world as the leagues drifted away. Lady Marietta asked Lucy all manner of questions about her childhood and youth. Reynaldo remained mostly silent, nodding now and again. Sometimes he murmured a faint response. By the time dusk fell and the carriage had reached an inn on the route, Lucy realized she had told Lady Marietta nearly everything about herself, yet the Lady had revealed very little, especially about Bellavelten or Lucy’s servitude. 

The little inn treated them well enough, with excellent fare. Meals at Lucy’s own castle had never been lavish, but this was well-prepared humble food. Excitement and adventure seasoned the dish. 

Lady Marietta had paid for a separate room for Reynaldo, but Lucy noticed they had to share a bed. She turned away as the Lady disrobed down to a silk shift. Her own linen now suddenly seemed crude, no matter how fine the weave. Lady Marietta noticed her interest. 

“One must be turned out according to one’s station, but in truth, linen breathes more easily.” 

She touched Lucy’s shift. Lucy flushed slightly, remembering the early examination without it. 

“I have seen cruder work. Your spinners, weavers and seamstresses deserve praise.” 

“Thank you, my Lady. I have not seen such fine silk.”

“Trade with the Kingdom of Sicily has its advantages.” 

“I have longed to make such journeys, as you know. What adventures you must have, as an emissary for Bellavelten!” 

Lady Marietta laughed. 

“I’m afraid I shan’t sate your… curiosity tonight, Princess. You will learn of my Kingdom when you cross its borders. But for now, we may rest. “

The room seemed a touch too close, then. 

“My Lady, I usually… answer nature’s call, before retiring.” 

“I shall turn.” 

Lucy realized she was to have no moment alone to herself. Her situation’s excitement, the examination this morning, and the occasional carriage jolt had led to a nervous restlessness she knew one way to take care of, even though the Lady had forbidden it. 

It wasn’t the sort of thing she could ask about, and what if Lady Marietta said no? Or proved as elusive as Lucy’s queries about the kingdom? 

So she tried to sleep, somewhat fitfully, her mind at work until exhaustion overtook her. Lady Marietta’s warm body next to her did not help matters. At one point, Lucy had fallen into a dream only to have the Lady literally pull her from it. 

“Was that a nightmare, Princess? You tossed a bit.”

“I think.. Not? My Lady.”

“Go back to sleep then, Princess. Travel awaits. You may, perhaps, nap in the coach.” 

Lucy indeed slept. Hastily dressing, grabbing a traveler's breakfast, and bustling into the coach had pulled her from slumber, but she found her eyes growing heavy from the wheels’ rhythm. She could hear Lady Marietta and Reynaldo speak as she dozed, but little of their words made sense, and soon flowed into somewhat troubling dreams again. 

They made a brief repast at a small waystation, exchanging horses. The countryside had grown closer, more wooded, the road surrounded by the forest. 

“Do bandits ever raid here, my Lady? Our tutors talked of thieves and footpads, and our nurse, of course, spoke of wolves.” 

“Bandits thrive in poverty, Princess. Deep though these woods may be, there is nothing of desperation in them. The Inn we reach tonight is at the edge of kingdoms loyal to mine, and criminals have found no reason to occupy themselves with banditry there.’ 

“Yes, Bellavelten, I have heard, is rich. It must make a tempting target.” 

Lady Marietta laughed at that. 

“Life is full of all sorts of tempting targets, Princess, and Bellavelten has more of them than gold.” 

The carriage stopped at a small village in the middle of the woods. Lucy noted an audience of villagers gathering as they made their way to the center of town. 

Lady Marietta sighed. 

“It is something of a relief to be this close to home, is it not, Reynaldo?” 

“At least I know the quality of the accommodations here.” 

Much of the little village had just half-timbered, sturdy looking houses, but Lucy noticed their quality increased as they reached the Inn at the village square. What seemed so isolated a community had to serve in reality as the hub in some chain of routes, practically an oasis for weary travellers. The stables looked large enough for four coaches with room to spare. 

The Inn itself also showed signs: fresh whitewash, a polished wooden floor, gold often substituting for bronze in the fixtures. The whole place glowed with radiant light from candles and lamps, with a large fire on the hearth. Lucy had not thought herself hungry until the aroma of food struck her. 

Yet she could again feel the people in the Inn watching her, but decided it mere curiosity. She was not sure how many royal guests the inn hosted, but given Bellavelten’s reputation, she surely could not have been the first. 

“Lady Marietta! Reynaldo, you rogue! So good to see you! I take it your trip to the chilly north was successful? Safe travels?” 

The booming voice belonged to a solid man, well-fed, but also well-kept, about her father’s age, with a square face and neatly barbered beard. His clothing looked simple enough, but a few bits of finery glinted on the practical fabric. 

“Quite so. Master Keele, I present Princess Lucy. Princess, you will curtsey to this gentleman. He is the Master of this establishment.” 

Such deference seemed irregular, but Lucy’s stomach put her in no mood to quibble over formalities. Master Keele had an air of authority similar to her father’s, and Lucy supposed him the ruler of his own small kingdom of sorts here. Her father had taken pains to have her tour their lands and learn their economy, and she knew the work of running even a small household. 

Master Keele’s glance was far more direct than Lucy was used to receiving from the gentry. He seemed to take her measure all at once, and smiled. 

“You do my humble establishment honor, Princess. Please accept my hospitality, and may your night here give you fond memories for your time in Bellavelten.” 

The meal excelled any in her memory: roasted meats of all sorts along with flaky batter puddings and root vegetables; pies both sweet and savory, and even wine. Lady Marietta permitted Lucy two glasses before her obvious glance bade her request water instead. 

Along with the wine, the noise and bustle of the room, the pace of the day’s journey, and Lucy’s own excitement all lent the evening an unreal feeling. She could almost believe her nurses’ tales of enchanted journeys. 

Lady Marietta suggested a new luxury: this inn had been chosen due to its proximity to a natural hot spring. Lucy could not quite believe her eyes at the pool in the back of the establishment. Part of the grotto remained natural stone, but the other part was paved in fine marble. Torches flickered across it all, and the trees had even been trimmed so as to frame the spring. 

“I see the reason your inn commands such respect, Master Keele,” Lucy said. 

“Aye. The Romans knew of this place. We had to relocate some of their statues, but travellers have known the baths for generations.” 

Lucy and Lady Marietta withdrew to a small chamber where they disrobed and hung their clothing on hooks. As they stepped out, Lucy blushed to realize everyone there was naked. Yet they bathed nonchalantly, so she must act so as well, she decided. After all, Lady Marietta strode down into the pool without pause, giving Lucy a flash of breast and a view of her backside. Yet more than this, Lucy saw the naked men for the first time, and felt herself color again. Her steps grew hesitant. 

She had caught glimpses of Charles as they had grown up together, but that was nothing. And this pleasant sight made all of the gossip she and her maidens had shared seem like childish games. So much flesh and muscle: thick arms, taut chests, legs moving like great machines. Even the older men like Master Keele, their bellies fringed with curling hair, had their allure. 

Below those bellies and between those legs, that had its fascinations also. Their cocks, or manhood, or even their sexes, she supposed, for certainly her own sex was located there. She could feel it as she stared at all of this, pulsing along with her heart and the heat of the wine and the pool she now stepped into. 

Lucy sighed slightly as she stepped down so the warm water reached her there, and felt that excitement bank to a sort of delicious languor as she found a seat beside Lady Marietta, who had learned back and submerged her dark tresses. Lucy did the same. 

“I have never known such… warmth, my Lady. I have bathed in a tub at our castle, but this…”

“With your cold northern lakes I suspect not. You have never swam, then?”

“No.” 

“In my kingdom, we do not have quite these amenities, but all who serve there do enjoy hot baths regularly.” 

“That hardly seems onerous, my Lady. Tell me more.” 

“Ha! You scamp! You shall be there tomorrow, and that is all you shall hear from me tonight.” 

As the heat from the water sank into her body, Lucy felt deep relaxation come with it. The night passed in a blur. She had a brief memory of donning a soft robe as she and Lady Marietta made their way to a grand, soft bed in their chamber, but sleep overtook her. She awoke without a stitch on under the blankets. 

She felt refreshed, and was surprised to see Lady Marietta dressed, busy writing at a small table. Lucy looked for her shift and chest of clothing, but saw neither. Lady Marietta smiled when Lucy came to her, stretching and yawning. Her head had cleared this morning, and she now felt sheepish in her nakedness. 

“Have you seen my clothing, my Lady?” 

“I have, Princess. It is in the coach. You, however, shall not require it the rest of the journey.” 

Lucy frowned. This surely must be some jest, and yet Lady Marietta looked directly at her as she spoke, as if searching Lucy’s thoughts. The Lady’s eyes on her own made Lucy instinctively reach to cover herself. 

Was she still asleep?

No, her beating heart, quick breaths and gooseflesh told her otherwise. Of course, she felt fear, but the Lady’s gaze transmuted it to something else. She felt safe: Lady Marietta would let no harm come to her.

The first examination had been naked, Lucy recalled. The very air around her again seemed to touch her in new ways, and the pulse of fear was certainly anticipation as much as anything. Everyone had said there would be surprises.

“All the lands between here and my kingdom are loyal to it, and know its customs, Princess. This is one of them. I know it is difficult.” 

“Yes, my Lady---” 

Lucy wanted to say more, but felt the futility of it. 

“Yes, Princess? You may speak. In time, your servitude will require more silence, yet I do not expect you to know this. Nor will I always need you silent. I see you would speak, and unseal your lips.” 

“My Lady, if this is what my servitude requires, then I will do it.” 

A flash of true affection crossed Lady Marietta’s face. 

“Then, you recall how I instructed you to put your hands on the back of your neck? Do so now, and wait for me.” 

Lucy complied, remembering how the position exposed her chest. 

“I must finish this correspondence and then you will walk downstairs, out the hall, and to the coach.” 

Lucy swallowed. 

All the curious villagers from last night had, of course, come back to see them depart. Lucy recalled last night in the hot spring, except now, she as the only one so naked. She could feel her nipples tighten as she walked. The air was temperate enough, but again, each tiny breeze touched parts of her skin she had not thought of before. 

She did feel thankful the inn kept the path to the coach well paved. 

Lucy tried to keep her eyes forward and not give any of the gawkers more of the show they had come for. Every scrap of information about Bellavelten played in the back of her mind-- the secrecy surrounding it, the obvious delight of Princess Eugenia, Lady Marietta’s questions about pleasure-- and her forbidding thereof, her parents’ whispered conversations and Charles’ flight and silence. 

The carriage had been made ready, and Reynaldo climbed in first before Lucy. Lady Marietta had her climb in, then sat next to Reynaldo, opposite her. 

“You may lower your hands at your side, Princess, but your legs are too close together. Spread them wider-- yes, that’s it.” 

The leather cushion felt strange, clinging to her bare bottom, and Lucy at once exposed and yet glad the coach’s rumbling and her pressed legs might not make her journey any more uncomfortable. 

“By nightfall,” Lady Marietta said, “We shall be in Bellavelten, my Kingdom, where Queen Eleanor rules. Surely you have heard some stories, though our custom discourages gossip. You now have a first-hand reason to know why we don’t want the wide eyes of the world on our court.”

“Do all the tributes serve… this way? Naked?” 

“Indeed. Yet fear not. Each slave goes through a period of training before they are fully ready to serve. You are not the only Princess this has happened to, and there are a great many Princes as well.” 

That word, _slave_ , pierced her, and yet it made sense. Lucy remembered Princess Eugenia, her serene manner, different from some of the other spoiled royalty she had met. Such an ordeal had to be humbling!  
Lady Marietta began asking Lucy questions again, as she had before, and Lucy soon forgot her nudity. The leagues drifted by again, and Lucy found her head drooping. 

“You may rest, Princess. It would not do to enter the court sleepy.”

Lucy let sleep take her, and the next thing she knew, Lady Marietta’s hand shook her shoulder. 

“Princess! We have arrived! We have reached the castle at Bellavelten.”

Lucy looked up, and for a moment, her nakedness startled her. Then she remembered everything. Her heart pounded. 

_It has begun._

Lady Marietta took her by the chin. 

“Now, what you must do is leave the coach at a low crouch, so you will be on your hands and knees. We are at the castle’s drawbridge, and it is custom for slaves to crawl across. Princess though you may be, Lucy, you are now a pleasure slave of Queen Eleanor.”

_Pleasure slave._

Pleasure as she had found herself? It felt confusing. Yet she also remembered Lady Marietta’s promise of training. She would not go into this unprepared. 

On the way down, she caught sight of an enormous castle, larger than her own, with tall towers, but just a glimpse as she lowered to a crouch. The earth was soft beneath her hands and knees, the drawbridge wood almost polished, as perhaps it was, by generations of bare knees, hands and feet of those who had passed before her. 

“Unless instructed otherwise, you will always move this way, Princess, as befits your station. Keep your head low and your eyes down. You have not been punished yet, nor do I wish you to be. I am impressed with your willingness to serve, so make me proud.  
You may moan, but try as much as possible to do so with your mouth closed.” So Lucy passed through the courtyard, head down, but she could not help seeing flashes of other naked flesh. 

_This is it, the Kingdom’s ‘servitude’_ , she realized. The nudity felt odd, but logical: how more clearly could this court have shown their slaves’ position?

_Slave. Pleasure slave._

What could it mean? 

Lucy crawled to a great hall, passing and legs clothed in finery and naked as her own. Lady Marietta bade her rise to a table on the dining hall, with a low raised platform to rest her belly on, and she learned part of the answer to that riddle. 

It had not occurred to her that her nakedness served a second and perhaps more obvious purpose until the servants clothed in livery bound her arms and legs, spreading her wide from the little platform. Lucy began to startle when she felt someone binding her wrists and ankles, but a flurry of motion captured her attention.

Lucy could not look away from this, vague threat of unknown punishment or no.

A naked Prince and Princess coupled on a dining table, surrounded by dining Lords and Ladies. Some carried on with their meal as if nothing happened before them. A few looked bored, yet others followed the couple’s actions intently, gesturing and whispering, like gamblers watching an athletic match.

The Prince and Princess both had their eyes closed, frowns of concentration on their faces. Their bodies shook with their breaths. Finally the Princess opened her eyes and cried out, helpless, while the Prince continued to pound her.

Lucy saw the glint of gold and jewels exchanged.

Yet before she consider the wager, the Lords and Ladies approached her own table.

“What a darling girl! Such dark hair, like shot silk!” The voice’s owner stroked her hair, petting her hair.

“Decent breasts,” a Lord said, and Lucy strained to move, to do anything. Yet someone touched her breasts as casually as whoever before him had petted her hair, first weighing them with his palms, then rolling her nipples until they stiffened more from pleasure than exposure.

Lucy sighed, remembering to keep her lips sealed. Yet how could she not respond? Was it forbidden?

They laughed when she twitched in her bonds again. A hand petted between her legs, squeezing her mound.

“At least this Princess shows more promise than the last one from her Kingdom. I’d think it some enchanted land of ice.”

“Oh, hush, Lady Juliana. You forget yourself.”

Another hand felt her there, parting her nether lips. Lucy knew her face must be flushed, and yet they dallied there, probing, feeling her wetness.

“Princess? You may speak,” said a Lord. “What do you know of the pleasures of the flesh?”

“I have heard of them, ah—“

“’My Lord.’”

“I have heard of them, my Lord.”

“I think more than that, Princess,” the Lord above her said, and chuckled.

Lucy felt mortified, but whoever touched her had found that spot she had thought she alone knew of two years ago. She knew what would happen if they continued.

“That is enough,” said a woman’s cold voice. The Lords and Ladies parted. She heard the measured click of footsteps, and Lucy realized only one person could be standing above her: Queen Eleanor.

“This Princess will have the proper training for such sport soon enough. She is exquisite, and from what I can tell, will be far more responsive than that Prince from her kingdom. Now let us continue the banquet.”

_Training for such sport._

The Queen had spoken the words casually, but as Lucy was to learn, so much of what passed for casual in Bellavelten was anything but.

For at the end of the evening, Lady Marietta kissed her farewell, and a Page led her to another hall, where naked slaves slept in niches in the walls. To her growing disquiet, some of them slept bound. She discovered why as a man introduced as her groom, a handsome young man named Giles, began to bathe her in one of the large tubs to one side of the room. The water felt luxurious, and Lucy remembered Lady Marietta’s promise. 

“You can ask me anything you like, Princess,” he said. “There’s enough for you to be afraid of without needless worry. You are to address me, and anyone else at court, as ‘my Lord’ or ‘my Lady.’” 

Yet before she could ask a question, he found information of a different sort. Giles’ hands slowed when he touched her breasts and sex. He peered down and touched her, feeling, as the Lady had, her desire. She flinched when his fingers rubbed the fork of her nether lips, finding that most sensitive spot expertly.

He nodded and drew back.

“Ah. How long have you known?” 

“My Lord?”

“The pleasure you surely feel.”

“Two years, my Lord?” 

How many times would she tell this story anew? She found tears welling in her eyes, but also realized her own frustration. The journey here, the coupling slaves in the hall, being handled by so many… 

Giles wiped her tears away, and took her by the chin. He smiled at her, and somehow that smile and his silence made things better instead of more embarrassing.

“I know. All here know, or they find out. It is no cause for shame, Princess. All slaves here, Prince and Princess alike, are pleasure slaves, both for it, and to it.”

He looked into her eyes, searching them for any trace of deception.

“Tell me, do you know… the release of your pleasure?”

Lucy nodded. How many times must she tell this story? 

“With another? A serving girl? A Prince from another kingdom?”

“No, my Lord. Only with myself.”

He nodded again.

“My Lord?” 

“Yes, Lucy?” 

“Lady Marietta forbade me touch myself. She knows some of my history.” 

He smiled. 

“Yes. Your satisfaction, and indeed your very body are no longer your own, Lucy, for these few years. That may be more difficult for you than some of the innocents that arrive here.”

After bathing, he led her to a cushioned sleeping alcove after that, and she understood why he bound her. Before she lay down, he gave her a potion.

“You might not sleep otherwise, and you will need your rest. Sometimes the anticipation is like the day before a holiday. Your training begins tomorrow.”

The not-quite-remembered fever dream of the next few months would haunt Lucy the rest of her life.

The next morning she had been awakened and fed with the other slaves at a large communal bowl of porridge. Giles had groomed her, then led her down a winding ramp to the Training Hall.

Lucy did not dare look long at any of what she saw momentarily, yet they etched themselves on her memory.

It was a long, low hall, filled with sturdy tables like the one she had been mounted for display on, so the Pages at work there did not stoop in their labors. Light came from torches on the wall, and the air felt close and hot with the scents of perfume and flesh.

Lucy saw so many handsome Princes, their naked bodies made all the more beautiful by the dignity they tried to bring to their contortions. Many were bound simply to the wall, legs at a low squat, hands bound above, their cocks thrust out.

She saw a Prince on the wall start to fade, his cock sinking, and he looked almost relieved, until a Page brought another Prince to suckle it. She knew her own needs sometimes felt painful, but this young man groaned as the kneeling Prince hardened him again.

She learned a new sound, one that terrified her: the Page spanked the suckling Prince with a large paddle, trimmed in leather. She realized with a shudder that many of the Princes had reddened skin and welted buttocks.

She had caught a whipping a time or two, but surely this was a kingdom of pleasure, and they were servants for pleasure…

Giles led her to one of the low tables and picked her up before she could break and run. He bade her sit, again with her belly on a small supporting platform there. She started when she felt the bonds at her wrists as a Page efficiently took her arms while another secured her legs.

_Did Charles run? Surely he faced this. How much of this had happened to him?_

“What have you brought me, Giles? A Princess from those cold mountains? Like her brother?”

“A bit of a break in formality, Tomasso.”

“I must know what I’m dealing with.”

“She is not like him. No lovers, but not innocent. Far more fun for you and less work, I expect.”

Lucy almost cried out when the Page probed her sex, but just as quickly his other finger was at her mouth.

“Sealed lips, Princess. The ones back here are the only ones I need open.”

Tomasso spoke to Giles again, his hands still on Lucy.

“Has she had the paddle?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“All right then. I’ll return her to you none the worse for wear.”

“Spare me your pleasantries. I look forward to seeing you, Lucy.”

Tomasso leaned down to look at Lucy, stroking her cheek.

“That’s a pretty little sex, Princess. So you know what it’s for? Seems you were touching yourself, in your old life?”

It had been one thing to tell Giles, but now this stranger knew as well. Tears welled in her eyes again. The Hall’s sounds drifted to her: cries, moans, and that smacking sound, over and over again.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Well, Princess, that makes my work easier. I am a connoisseur of such things.”

He slid two fingers into her and gathered, to her shame, what seemed to be so much wetness. He spread it on the lips and slowly stroked her core of pleasure. She twisted with the sensation, her hips rising on their own to meet his hand.

“I’ve got no work to do back here, showing you how to feel. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll show you one of our more, ah, _reserved_ Princesses. Meanwhile, you and I are going to get to know each other very well for the few months.” 

Lucy tried to follow his words, but that hand and those fingers pulled the thoughts from her head. She knew she must be close.

Tomasso took his hand away, leaving her open and waiting. Her moans turned into a slight groan before she could think better of it, before she could think at all, really.

Thought fled completely when he struck her upraised backside with a paddle. It had to have been that: the blow flared across her whole rear end, the force rippling down to her sex as well.

She completely forgot the warnings, what little training she had received and cried out. Yet he did not punish her again for the transgression. And why had he hit her in the first place? Had she misbehaved?

“Just because you know pleasure doesn’t mean you have nothing to learn here, Princess. That’s half of the alchemy.”

He bent low, so low Lucy could see his face. Tomasso was dark, even moreso in the shadow, a helmet of glossy black curls atop a handsome face, twinkling eyes.

“Have you ever taken a whipping, Princess? Or did your kingdom have whipping girls and boys?”

“My parents thrashed me when they saw fit, my Lord.”

He considered.

“Well now. Perhaps I have less work in this direction, too. Did you pick up a taste for it?”

“No, my Lord?”

Instead of the paddle he started to spank her with his hand, almost gently at first, low on her buttocks, so the blows carried towards her sex. If he struck a bit harder, he might have touched her nether lips.

Lucy did not cry out. Instead, she found herself drawn towards the blows, for their rhythm seemed to match her own pulsing hunger. Tomasso gradually spanked harder, and she wondered if she might not find some relief after all.

He must have sensed this, for the moved upward, working one side of her buttocks, then the other, snapping his hand now so the blows stung. Lucy started to cry out and writhe in her bonds. She wiggled, realizing how she must look, yet she had little chance of dodging his hand.

But she moved all the same.

Tomasso stopped and put a finger to her lips again.

“That won’t do. Mouth sealed. You can moan all you want, but mouth sealed. Grit your teeth if you like. Now I’m really going to get to work.”

She heard him take up the paddle again and tried to start up with all her strength, but she could only lift herself, thrust her buttocks more into the air, open her sex more.

He slammed the paddle down hard, with no preliminaries. He still gave a rhythm to his work, and Lucy found herself moving in time as if they danced. She could spare no thought for it: she just moved.

What had seemed a mild pain had grown, burning with each blow. She began to tell herself she could not stand one more blow, yet they came, the brief moments between them brought flashes of pain, rising unbearably before the paddle’s almost welcome force obliterate everything for a blinding instant.

Tears ran freely down her face. She kicked uselessly. She moaned and cried as much as she could through her closed mouth, her teeth clenched in a grimace.

Tomasso brought the paddle down again but merely rested it on her backside, pressing the wood to her scalded skin. She breathed hard, shuddering. Then she felt his fingers between her legs again, those knowing fingers.

As much as the spanking had seared her, Lucy doubted she would respond now. His stroking dispelled that notion. Indeed, the pleasure burned on its own, not in spite of her pain, but with it, like two fires blazing alongside one another that could join at any moment.

Having just caught her breath from the spanking, Lucy found herself caught up again, betrayed by her body’s response. She writhed against Tomasso’s fingers as much as she had fled his paddle, which he still held pressed against her.

She could feel her release coming.

Tomasso took his hand away.

Lucy strained her hips towards his fingers, but the bonds held her. The only touch she knew was the paddle pressed against her, and after a few moments he took that away as well.

Then she felt the rush of air, so cool on her hot skin, and the paddle lifted her again. She almost cried out, but remembered this time, stifling it with her teeth as the blows continued.

It did not take much until she was sobbing again. She had seen the other slaves’ punished buttocks, and how she must look now forced itself to a small corner of her mind. Tomasso seemed to find paces he had not worked before, where he could strike without causing instant suffering, yet just when she felt relief he returned, more brutally, to the sorest places.

Then he stopped again, paddle pressed to her. Lucy almost shook her head, but again, he caressed her sex, which, it seemed, had not quite forgotten his earlier ministrations.

Again, he brought her towards the pinnacle. Again, he stopped at its precipice. Again, he waited while she reared towards him helplessly, her breaths taking on a frustrated growl.

Tomasso patted the back of her head and she stilled. She braced for more paddling to start again, wondering how she would bear the pain, which throbbed through her again. He lifted the paddle back, and she tensed, waiting. She could not dodge. She felt the rush of air again, the blow knocking a grunt from her.

This time, Tomasso had his other hand at her sex, stroking her in time with the blows. The paddle’s impact drove her into his hand. His fingers worked her sex. Bolts of pleasure shot through her body along with pain.

The two fires joined, and Lucy knew neither of them, pleasure nor pain, but sensation only. What gathered inside her engulfed her awareness. All of her body felt those moments, and the large hall itself shrank and fell away.

She forgot Tomasso’s command about sealing her lips and cried out as the sensation took her. She wished for all the world he would hold still and yet he kept on, wringing more pleasure and cries from her until he stopped.

Lucy shook all over. She had fallen back into herself, it seemed, her awareness of other places drifting back. She breathed freely, drawing air in huge gulps.

The room came back to her, and she realized her own cries had been one voice amid many: a chorus of moans, sighs and cries, keeping time to the blows of leather and flesh.

Tomasso petted her damp hair and stroked her face.

“Be glad it was me, little one. Others would have used your knowledge against you with endless teasing games. That there is the essence of what you learn here, and the sooner, the better. You don’t have to keep a stiff cock like the Princes, but you’ll have to take your pleasure where you find it, and only under orders.”

Thus Lucy’s training began.

Giles had bathed her after that and rubbed a soothing ointment on her welts, moving slowly when she drew her breath. Her pleasure had faded, but there seemed something different about the echoes of that pain.

“The first few days are always the most difficult, Princess. Tomasso tries to make the first time in the Training Hall… memorable.”

“But how far would he have gone, my Lord? Lady Marietta said no harm would befall me.”

“She was correct. You will never be cut, branded or injured. A whipping must stop when blood is drawn.”

Lucy gulped. Tomasso had not drawn blood. She knew she would feel the marks tomorrow, yet he had not drawn blood.

“You’re to eat again, and then back to the Hall.”

Lucy started.

“Back?”

Giles frowned at her.

“I should not like to punish you, Princess, but a response like that would ordinarily earn it. I remember it is your first full day here, so I will overlook this impertinence just once.”

Lucy did not know what made her shudder more: fear of Giles punishing her or having to return to the hall.

Tomasso led her back to the Hall, driving her with a smack from the paddle as she crawled. It did not have much force, but stung her welted flesh.

“Crawl quickly, and with spirit. Get those buttocks in the air so I can get to them easily.”

He drove her to another table, this time on her back, with her legs apart. She had time to see more of the Hall.

She saw a Princess spanked and stroked as she had been, a look of outrage on the girl’s face quickly blending to something else. She saw a Prince worked this way as well, his cock drooping as soon as the paddle struck. The Page working him pinched his cheek and teased him, then began stroking him back to attention.

Despite the treatment she had received earlier, Lucy found the sign of so many well-endowed young men appealing. And why should she not? Was that not the reason for this place? How long would it be before she coupled with some Prince on a table in the Great Hall?

Tomasso bound her again, arms secured above her head, her legs open.

“I let you have that release earlier for two reasons, Princess: to join what you already knew with what you must learn, and so that you’d know what you’re missing.”

He held his hand on her, letting the warmth and pressure do its work. Lucy could feel her desire building again, despite how blasted she had felt earlier, despite her respite.

He worked her slowly, stroking her thighs, rubbing the pelt of her dark lower hairs, catching a bit of her fluids—there was so much already, she realized, to her shame—and stroking her sex. He found that sensitive place and stroked it through her lips, rolling the flesh.

Lucy felt her face flush. She could do nothing to resist the touch. Nor, at this point, did she really wish to. Tomasso stroked her so well that it felt more than her body responding, but something like artistry. She could ride the wave his hands sculpted. She could let them work her up, up…

Tomasso stopped.

She looked up at him.

“And now that you know what you shall miss, I want to learn what it is to truly miss it.”

It was not fair! She pulled forward, but the bonds held her.

Instead, Tomasso stroked her nipples. What Lucy had known of them before was nothing to this deliberate caress. It seemed cords of feeling tied them to her sex, for while it was not enough to even start her up that path, it pulsed with each tug at her breasts.

The pull was enough so she could not let herself drift into a daze in the close, warm room. Tomasso tightened his grip, the caress growing cruel. Her eyes widened again, but he only looked at her as before, nodding.

Again, the sensations blended, pleasure melding into something not quite painful. She could feel each subtle adjustment he made, see him watching her eyes as he spoke with his fingers. She tried to twist away, but he only rewarded that with a tighter grip, now adding the side of his fingernails.

She winced and yielded. Tomasso grinned and let go a little, then released one nipple entirely.

“When you are free, and past such preliminaries, pet, I’ll have you feed them to me yourself. Seeing as you are indisposed…”

He dipped down, his warm tongue soothing the tender skin while he roughly held the other. He reached for her sex again, his fingers splayed on either side of her nether lips for a second, squeezing them together, the wetness leaking out, before he stroked her again.

Surely this time, she would get there. Her whole body surged to his touches, but Tomasso felt this as well, and pulled away with a smile, watching her pant, gasp and scowl.

“Ah, anger. That’s not at all the proper demeanor for a slave, Princess. You need to lower your eyes and address me correctly.”

“My Lord…”

“Yes?”

“Please, my Lord?”

“That is sheer sweetness to hear, pet, but you should never ask. Giles told you that is not your decision any more. I don’t think you’ve ever known that before, and now I don’t want you to ever forget it.”

So when he began stroking her again, it seemed less a pleasure than torment. She could not stop her body from betraying her, but knew he would leave her panting and unsatisfied.

She spent the rest of the afternoon that way, in the end pleading Tomasso not for release, but for peace, to be left alone.

“Certainly, Princess. After I attend to your training.”

When she groaned again as he pulled away, he leaned towards her.

“You should know where the disobedient slaves go, Lucy. The Hall of Punishments.”

“May I speak, my Lord?”

“Ah, tractability. That’s a becoming attitude, Princess. Much better than your earlier curses. Yes, speak.”

“I’m sure you could find no worse punishment than this.”

He laughed.

“It is _exactly_ this, Princess. For _days_.”

She shook as he unbound her after that, and hauled her from the table.

“Legs apart as you crawl.”

She winced as the paddle smacked her and hurried her pace, the desire driving out most other considerations. It did make the blows easier to bear.

She lapped her stew with the other slaves at a large communal bowl, more than ever aware of the naked bodies pressed close to her own.

Giles bathed her carefully, nodding at her sighs as he reached her sex. He rubbed her nipples with an ointment and she squirmed.

“Tomasso can be rough, but he gets results.”

He bade her spread her legs a bit more and she felt something soft touch her, carefully shaped over the crown of her sex.

“You will be bound, naturally, but the clitoral covering helps prevent accidental stimulation. Tomasso likely has you rather… stoked, and it would not do for you to find release in your dreams.”

Lucy had blushed, but could not deny his judgment.

“My Lord, how shall I rest? How can I? You must know how I feel.”

“Never beg, Lucy.”

“I do not ask for release.”

“This is among the reasons we have sleeping draughts, Princess.”

Lucy felt grateful for it, drifting off in her cushioned alcove, legs bound apart, aware of the covering at her sex, her hands bound at her side. Fatigue at last overtook her desire.

Yet the desire returned as she woke, though it had faded. Her skin felt flushed, her sex had an odd ache, and felt slightly sticky, as well. Lucy crinkled her nose at that, but she knew why.

The man behind “why” greeted her with a grin after the morning meal, paddle in hand.

“Did you rest well, Lucy?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

She nearly cried as he drove her to the hall, this time past the tables to a small alcove. She did not look up, but saw bound feet in front of her, and heard Princesses moaning to the paddles’ smack. Tomasso put his hand on her neck.

“Perhaps you would like what you asked for yesterday?”

“Yes, my Lord. If it pleases you, my Lord.”

“Excellent manners, Lucy. Sit up, back on your heels, and observe.”

The bound feet belonged to Princesses, the paddles to the Pages, of course. The Princesses also had their hands bound above them against the wall, and they worked their bodies as the Pages spanked them.

The same game as yesterday, then. Lucy could deal with the paddle if she could come. She felt less sore than lustful. But the Pages did not stroke their charges.

_How, then?_

Above where she sat back, in the open spot— _her_ spot, it must be—she saw a phallus made of leather, angled from the wall, well-endowed as any Prince, perhaps more than some.

Lucy had begun to think herself beyond shock, and realized this kingdom would always supply it.

“You wish your release? Very well, you may find it there. You work yourself, as you see these Princesses working, until you find release, but as you see, you must pay for it.”

The Pages spanking the Princesses never stopped. One Princess seemed close, but the paddle caught her at the wrong moment. The Princess winced and began riding the phallus again.

“The paddle won’t stop until you climax. For the sake of your backside, you should concentrate. And don’t think of trying to fool me by making a show of it, either. I can tell.”

Lucy whimpered as he hauled her up. She could see the phallus had been placed at the right height for mounting. Tomasso even held it for her as she approached, legs apart, considering.

The head nudged her nether lips as she moved forward. She rocked slightly , feeling them open, and the phallus start to side inside. It was not the first time she had felt the sensation. The games she played that taught her pleasure had taxed her own ingenuity for things to slip inside, though none had been this… thick.

Lucy let out her breath in almost a sigh as she moved further down, letting the shaft inside her until she reached its base. Before she could move further, Tomasso was at work, binding her arms and legs tightly. She could not now move off the phallus if she tried. Worse still, she had little room for moving. How could she—

The paddle’s crack answered her. She had healed since yesterday’s ordeal, but her skin had not totally recovered.

She remained still, uncertain. Then the paddle smacked her again, then a third time. With a wince, she shifted on the phallus, trying to rock her hips as best she could, to find the right angle.

She tried anticipating Tomasso’s blows, recalling yesterday as she began grinding, pushing herself down, moving so the phallus rubbed her clitoris better as she rode it. She smiled as she found the right position at last.

Tomasso brought the paddle up under her buttocks now, shifting her away. She grunted in frustration. It would be a contest, then. Closing her eyes, she rocked her body, focusing on the small movements of her hips, shutting out the blows that had started her welts burning again, shutting out the moans and cries of the other Princesses, trapped in the same predicament.

The pain had started to flare again. She remembered yesterday, Tomasso’s hand, getting so close… He would not be able to pull away now. She remembered the Princes she had seen, their powerful legs, arms that could pick her up and throw her down, their cocks hard to a one as they strained through their servitude.

Tomasso’s paddle still found her, and the pain was bad enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Though yesterday morning, he had spanked her just as hard. She remembered her frustrated desire from the afternoon, how close she had been, and felt the ghost of it again through the pain: a thin thread, but she could follow it. The warmth in her buttocks had spread to her sex, and while the pain threatened to overwhelm it, she rode.  


She worked up and down, nearly pulling off the phallus now as she followed that path, holding tightly to the pleasure. It built as she moved, but how long could she do this? The contest had shifted. She felt her shaking body responding.  


The world had always gone away when she came, never so dramatically as in this room, in this kingdom. This time the paddle did so as well, just her body, the shaft piercing her, rubbing her as she undulated, closer—  


It was a close contest, though. Instead of the climax exploding throughout her body, it swept through the exertion in her limbs, as if she had also climbed up a mountain summit as well as ecstasy. She knew she must have been flushed. Sweat poured down her body, yet the climax came.  


She had done it in spite of her bonds, in spite of the pain. Surely Tomasso had seen.  


Yet he paddled her until she slumped, then spoke in her ear.  


“Good work for the morning, Princess. You’ve given my arms a good workout, and you will probably need refreshment.”  


“Yes, my Lord,” she said, still breathing hard.  


“We shall try this again in the afternoon. I do not think you will find it so easy the second time, since you knocked the ashes from your furnace.”  


Lucy did not know how she managed it a second time later that day, but she did.  


The third day, Tomasso’s training had less to do with sensation than servitude. He took her through all the positions a slave could hold: kneeling with her hands behind her neck, then the more difficult position of having her arms crossed behind her.  


Sometimes he bade her bow her head, sometimes not.  


“It depends on the whims of your Masters and Mistresses,” he said.  


He commanded her to stand the same way, legs spread, and called another Page to lead a Prince over.  


“And should I demand your attention, Princess, you need to give it no matter the circumstances.”  


He took her by the chin and looked into her eyes. Lucy felt the Prince’s hand on her thighs, opening her sex, probing at it with his fingers.  


“I require your attention now, Lucy. You look at me. What goes on below, that does not matter, eh?”  


The Prince had begun to lap at her sex with his tongue.  


“Yes, my Lord,” she said, her neck stiff, chin held straight ahead, trembling.  


“That’s good. Excellent manners, my dear.”  


He nodded at the other Page who snapped his fingers at the Prince, who let go and followed after him, to Lucy’s relief, and dismay.  


Her days began to blend into each other, but she would always recall the first few with an aching, feeling in her later years. She saw other Princesses, far more innocent than she had been, bound with their legs spread, crying from passion for the first time in their lives as their Pages nodded, petting and congratulating them.  


She later wondered if had been better or worse for her, coming to the castle as she did. She’d not been quite virginal, so she had more for her trainers to use against her. Yet her more innocent sisters had no other comparison to the hothouse they’d been brought to bloom in.  


The Princes took less coaxing, and Lucy saw more than one come across the room, sometimes with full attention. Other times, the Pages would take their hands away at the ultimate moments, laughing as the still-hard cocks dribbled a ruined release away. 

More than once, she helped a young man who’d never known a woman’s touch, and smiled the moment their eyes and bodies locked.  


In the evenings, when Giles groomed her, she found herself thinking of Charles. She knew now why they did not choose close siblings, but the thought of her parents—  


She stopped herself. It was better to know this happened than not, and there was no point in denying it. But she didn’t need to picture details.  


Charles’ situation troubled her. Speaking among slaves was nearly forbidden, yet she started to hear stories in stolen exchanges.  


“You must be the sister of Prince Charles,” one Princess whispered to her. Lucy nodded.  


“I would call him a poor young man for his obvious misery here. He never accepted this life as you do.”  


“Was he… too shy? “  


“No, not him. Walked around with a cock like a statue’s. And he loathed it. They treat us like beasts sometimes. That’s part of the game. Yet for him, I fear, passion itself will always be bestial.”  


Slaves could run away, like Charles. Incorrigibles or captured runaways were sent to the Queen’s Village near the castle.  


“It’s quite debasing,” Giles had told her. “Hope you are never sent there.”  


But again, slaves talked, and opinions varied.  


“I spent one summer there,” an older Princess had told her.  


“Was it terrible?”  


“To be certain. But in some ways…” she looked at Lucy intently.  


“I don’t wish to threaten my servitude, but I would not mind going back. Remember your life before this place?”  


“Yes.”  


“It is the merging of worlds. We are no courtly playthings there. The common folk live to use us. And I mean… _use_ us. You know what I mean. I have never suffered as much at the Castle as I have at the Village, but I have never had such enjoyments here, either. One might almost say Village is to the Castle what the Castle is to our former lives.”  


Lucy had grown wet at the thought of it, though she could only vaguely picture what sort of life that would be. What desires would she find there? What had she found at the castle she would never have suspected, lurking in her own flesh?  


By the end of her servitude, she, too had served her time in the village. Comparatively, her time at court had felt very mundane. More than three years had passed when Giles had awoken her, eyes averted, leading her to a room where Lady Marietta herself helped clothe her as if she were one of the Court’s ladies.  


“It is your day, Lucy,” she said.  


Lucy had looked down, not comprehending.  


“You have fulfilled the terms of your contract. You are to return to your own kingdom. I shall help dress you.”  


Lucy looked at the clothes, far finer than any she had known in her small kingdom. And the reward, the coffer of gold, which Charles had forsaken.  


“Why does a slave not dress me? I have dressed Lords and Ladies myself. Do I not warrant it?”  


“If you were to be staying in our kingdom, perhaps. But it is your brother the King’s wish—“  


“My father is king, my Lady.”  


The look of sorrow clouding the lady’s features told Lucy the important thing more than any words. She stepped forward, embracing Lucy in a way she never had in these three years, which had not been without other embraces.  


"I am sorry, dear Lucy. I thought they told you. Your father, the King, is dead. Long live the King.”  


Thus had she learned of the accident that claimed her parents’ lives, leaving Charles the King. He had insisted her servitude end immediately.  


Such things had been done before. Fortunes shifted. Prince Laurent had been reprieved in such a manner. Lucy had seen other slaves leave, sometimes with mementoes or reminders of their time here.  


Charles allowed for none. The servants driving the carriage that took her home had a furtive air, as if they rescued her from captivity. And they dare not look upon the captors. They did not linger as guests of the Court, nor did Charles appear himself.  


They moved Lucy along in a proprietary fashion she did not like.  


_I have been a naked pleasure slave three years, and yet these orders feel different._  


True, she had not been given a choice, but she had learned to sublimate her will to that of her Masters and Mistresses. Yet behind whatever games she had played, they always knew, or seemed to know she had a will to subvert, and her obedience had been part of the game.  


These men her brother sent did not seek her submission. They just acted as if she had no will to submit. She had never felt like she was an object at the castle as she had at the hands of these blank-faced attendants.  


It took several days’ travel to reach her home kingdom, and there was no welcome ceremony, just Charles.  


He ran towards Lucy, embracing her tightly, tears in his eyes.  


“I thank the heavens I have rescued you, dear Sister!”  


He looked at her with a terrifying mixture of pity, relief and disgust.  


“I could not bear the thought of you in that awful place.”  


“You did not need to rescue me, Charles.”  


Confusion replaced pity and relief.  


“Yet surely… perhaps it was different for you, as a Princess?”  


Lucy looked directly in his eyes. She had not made such a glance to a man in years.  


“I saw both Princes and Princesses from my first hours there, Charles. Surely you recall seeing Princesses in the Training Hall? Granted, I never had much time to let my eyes wander…”  


She could not have said if shame, rage or both darkened his face.  


“I remember that place. They made me… I can’t really speak of it.”  


“I did hear stories, brother. There are slaves chosen who should have been selected more carefully. Some cannot be roused.”  


She kept her eyes level.  


“But that wasn’t your problem, was it?”  


“Yet such things, Lucy! How can they ask—you know what the church would say? What of society? How are we fit for marriage after—“  


“I would say a good deal more fit. Would servicing a Lady be much more different than servicing your wife? Or servicing a Lord?”  


Charles glowered. Lucy remembered when he had returned, the shame and silence surrounding his escape, and then his own self-imposed reticence.  


They could talk now, as in the old days, when they had no secrets from each other. Though even in those times, she had somehow felt the older sibling. And now, she realized, she felt power, the same she’d always felt when besting him in contests.  


_And what was Bellavelten but games about power?_  


“It’s only the spell of that place still holds you, Lucy. You shall see. Time will pass.”  


Time did pass. Lucy returned to her own small court and found it a changed place since her parents’ death. King Charles’ reign made for a tense time. Her father had worked to build their kingdom from within, while Charles sought glory on the battlefield. He had all the cruelty of some of the infamous Italian dukes, but none of their cunning.  


He’d sought to marry her off straight away.  


“Your whoredom has thankfully supplied your dowry,” he said.  


Suitors came, and their introductions gave Lucy some amusement. She had heard of the famous Princess Beauty, released from a spell of a century of slumber, claimed by the Crown Prince to serve. Her family had seen her reprieved early, and she refused spouses until King Laurent, who had also served at Bellavelten, had won her heart.  


_Not just her heart_ , the gossip ran, though Queen Eleanor forbade all mention of them.  


Lucy had her own way with suitors, and Charles soon learned to never leave her alone with any of them, after more than one had left their interview red-faced and shaking. The first time he had threatened to thrash her, only to met with her contempt.  


“Go ahead, but you’ll have to wield the whip better than that, brother.”  


That sent him away.  


So the years passed. Lucy had her small games. She often deferred her satisfaction of her own accord, though felt no true strictures on self pleasure, except perhaps discovery. She took careful note of her confidantes from the neighboring kingdoms and from time to time found one amenable to a tryst, though none of them-- and the occasional attractive suitor-- had any taste for the lash. She was not apt to find a Prince Laurent, and from time to time she flogged herself, though the angle was awkward.  


So she sat, looking at the table, remembering the proclamation. Heretofore, there had been nowhere to go. She had tried to petition for journeys to more of the world, but Charles revenged himself on his inability to get rid of her by isolating her as best he could. A woman alone with no destination in mind could end up in the wrong sort of trouble, though she remembered Lady Marietta’s nonchalance about bandits. The world had changed since then, however.  


She had a destination now, and even knew the route, with an inn she could take refuge at.  


Lucy knew the way to the family safehouse as well as anyone. If she had learned anything in those three years, it was how to move silently, and she bypassed the guards. There, in a disused corner, sat a wooden coffer-- her wooden coffer, stamped with the crest of Bellavelten, though and angry slash marred it. She gathered up the gold into her light baggage. She’d gathered male servant’s clothes that fit well enough, and made her way to stables.  


Lucy could always outride Charles, but not sidesaddle. 

***  
STORY NOTES  
This story obviously takes place coinciding with the proclamation in Beauty’s Kingdom, but Lucy’s time in Bellavelten is about ten years before those events and therefore in the neighborhood of ten years after Beauty’s Release. The kernel for this idea came about early April of 2014.

In “Secrets In The Inner Chamber” (BP, ) Tristan remembers the emissaries from the then-unnamed Bellavelten meeting and inspecting him. If I have any Roquelaure fanfiction left to tell, it would likely be the further adventures of Lady Marietta and Reynaldo in the vaguely fairy tale, vaguely Renaissance Europe, as I think being an emissary for Bellavelten has to be a pretty sweet gig.  
Nicolas tells Tristan, of slaves who escape, “All that happens is the slave reaches his native country somewhat in disgrace. His parents are asked to send him back. If they don’t, then the slave earns no great reward. That’s all. No bag of gold. Obedient slaves are sent home with a great deal of gold. And of course there’s often the parents’ shame that their lovely has proved soft and inconstant. Brothers and sisters at home who have served as slaves resent the deserter. But what’s all that to a strong young Prince who finds service intolerable?” (BP, 177 )


End file.
